Revenge is Love
by Hana Sakurano
Summary: "Revenge is sweet. Revenge is cold. Therefore, revenge is definitely ice cream. It must be. Don't you agree, Arthur?" Alfred said. Arthur's eyebrows furrowed in frustration. If only it were that simple. Gakuen AU


_Arthur I. Kirkland. At that academy, that name evokes several images._

_Most would remember that harsh glare, cold demeanor, iron fist of a devil student council president who was definitely not elected by anyone. Others would recall those high grades, tests so perfectly answered that they couldn't even believe it until they've seen said tests for themselves, and a bond with the teachers so strong that he could practically manipulate them if he wished to. A few would chuckle at the thought of the timid voice, cute blush, the stammers that came from him whenever flustered or provoked. Lastly, all of them would definitely, definitely have that picture of those two caterpillars- er, two eyebrows so thick and dark that they look like caterpillars in their heads. Yeah._

_But there is someone, this one person who could see nothing but eyes so green and so clear and so bright that they could be polished emeralds themselves; tiny freckles that were barely bare dotting refined cheekbones; kissable, soft lips that mold into one straight line whenever the person was in deep thought; a body so lean it was illegal; and a heart so kind, so warm that it could melt anyone in sight._

_Now, he thought as his own blue eyes glanced down to the physics book he was reading, if only there was a way to confess to him…_

* * *

Arthur knew that he could definitely use some sleep. But as he looked up to the huge pile of paperwork Kiku stacked there for him, he also knew that he would once again be disappointed tonight. Indeed, there were times when he regretted becoming the president in the first place, but the school was in such a mess and he wanted – no, _needed_ things to be in order so he took the position from the predecessor whose name he didn't even bother remembering; after all, the former president was just one lazy bastard who refused to get things done on time.

Everything was coming out perfectly, yes. And if only Arthur could finally get rid of his paperwork, then things would be even better.

He huffed as his vision started blurring for the nth time that day. He let his hand loosen the grip on the pen he was holding and leaned into his chair, sighing as he did so.

Only heaven knows when he'll be able to get some sleep again.

Truth be told, Arthur did not become a president solely for the sake of maintaining peace and order of the school; honestly, what sane person would do that? Certainly not mischievous, cunning, vengeful Arthur Kirkland. No, he has other things in mind.

Things like, as indicated earlier, revenge.

Over whom? Why, only the most popular jock in school.

Alfred Franklin Jones.

Arthur's eye twitched involuntarily at the recollection of his nemesis's name. Heck, the mere mention of that git's name already makes him so fired up that he could just flip this bloody desk with the bloody pile of paperwork-

He calmed himself down before his did anything reckless.

Yes, the one with the baby blue eyes, so-not-nerdy glasses, accentuated jaw line, a couple of hair strands that was claimed to have never been tamed by any brand of hair gel, the muscular body, the wonderful smile...yes, _that_ Alfred. The one and only; the prided golden boy of the institution.

Now, if only he wasn't so perfect, Arthur thought, things would be much easier. Having such a sharp memory, he would always find himself reminiscing about that one event that happened when he was in ninth grade, that one event that fuels all of his anger over the Jones boy.

The bitter memories from his horrible accident were, well, bitter. Only something sweet would rid him of those despicable recollections from his mind.

Fortunately, revenge is sweet. Just the way he likes it.

* * *

When it's finally time to come home, Arthur was as drained as his patience. Dinnertime was fast approaching and he needed to get back to his dorm before curfew. Grumbling, he made his way down a set of stairs, hoping to get the drowsiness out of his system.

What happened next was purely unexpected; whether he was just so clumsy that he tripped over his own foot or so sleepy that he lost his balance, he didn't know. What he _did _know was, fuck, he's falling. _Falling_. Down_._

He closed his eyes, cursing the effect gravity has on the inhabitants of earth and anticipating the pain – heck, he's good as dead at this point – but it never came. Yes, he did hit something hard upon having his feet back on the floor, but there was warmth, too. Must be a human with a sturdy set of bones. And was it just him, or something began beating very fast inside what he now realized was a man's chest-

Looking up, Arthur saw his green eyes reflected in blue ones. And glasses. He was so dumbfounded (and so, so tired) that he couldn't even notice a pair of strong, quarterback arms snaking around his waist in an attempt to support him.

"Jesus Christ, Artie! Are you all right?"

Well what do you know. It's his dearest…enemy Alfred.

Arthur could practically feel his face flushing into a lovely shade of magenta. "I-I'm fine!" He coughed, pushing Alfred away to prevent his last ounce of dignity from slipping away. In the process, however, he found himself losing his balance again, and then he could hear Alfred's voice calling his name and suddenly the ceiling was moving and-

Everything faded to black.

* * *

Arthur Kirkland had to admit to himself that he has quite forgotten how it felt like to get a good night's sleep. Thank goodness it's Saturday, he thought as he stretched his arms and sat up. Things just unexpectedly became all soft and peaceful.

His train of thought came to an abrupt stop when he opened his eyes, though.

He was not in his own room at the dorm. No, this room's painted blue instead of green, while the walls were covered with countless posters of superheroes. On a desk to his far left, he could see physics textbooks stacked as high as his own collection of novels back in England; under said desk, he could make out a dust bin full to the brim with hamburger wrappers and soda cups complete with straws. There was a cabinet full of CDs at the desk's right and…was that an XBox 360?

Arthur was definitely not in his room. He removed the blanket covering his body (Star Wars, he observed) and, on impulse, looked down. He wasn't wearing his own uniform…he wasn't even wearing his own clothes. Instead, he was wearing what appeared to be some sort of oversized T-shirt with a faded American flag plus eagle printed at the front.

American. Everything was bloody American.

"Don't tell me I'm…oh shit." His eyes drifted to his right and saw something he had failed to notice earlier. One look at that stubborn strand of hair standing up among the other more "submissive" ones and he knew there's no mistaking it.

Alfred – presumably the owner of the all-stereotypically-American room – began shifting from his sleep ("He's been with him on the bed from the very beginning? What the bloody fuck?" Arthur said to himself) and the memories of what happened came rushing back to him. He had been going down the stairs, then he fell, only to be saved by Alfred, then he fell and fainted for good-

Again, all thoughts stop as Alfred opened his eyes and looked up at blushing Arthur.

_He looks so young without his glasses, so cute_. Arthur became even redder and attempted to hide his flushed face by looking the other way. _I did NOT just think that, no I did NOT._

"Thank goodness you're all right!" Alfred also sat up and grabbed his glasses from the bedside table next to him.

In favor of keeping his dignity intact, Arthur summoned the scariest glare he could muster. And judging from the widening of Alfred's eyes, he was successful in making it a one damn scary glare.

"Ah, yes. What happened. Well," Alfred let out a nervous chuckle, "I knew it'd feel kinda stuffy for you to keep on that uniform of yours in your sleep, so I sorta took it off for you and let you borrow one of my favorite shirts! And it's getting kind of late and since Mattie's forgotten to air the spare mattress out, I had no choice but to sleep next to you."

Arthur's glare only intensified. Here he was, vulnerable and weak in front of his sworn enemy. Oh, he would never hear the end of it from Francis once the frog hears about this.

"You're sleep deprived, aren't you?" Alfred asked in that oh-so husky, rich baritone voice of his, succeeding in making Arthur's glare falter. Slowly, Alfred caressed–_caressed!_ – Arthur's cheek and swept his thumb underneath Arthur's eyes. "There are bags under your eyes and they're getting bigger everyday; really, you shouldn't abuse your body too much."

Arthur blushed even harder. How the insufferable wanker was able to observe that was beyond his knowledge. "So what? It's none of your business, you wanker."

"But it is, Artie." Arthur's eye twitched at Alfred's use of the nickname he created when he was in ninth grade. "I'm your friend; of course it's my business if your eye bags grow to the size of that suitcase you have dragged all the way from London."

Arthur's eyes widened. Since when have the two of them become friends?

"After all, I'm a hero and I just saved you from breaking your neck!"

Ah, yes. The part where he boasts about being the hero he's most likely not. How could have he forgotten that?

Arthur merely rolled his eyes, biting the insides of his cheek to prevent his tongue from spewing things not pleasant to the ears. Alfred _did_ save him from breaking his neck, after all. "Thank you, then, for saving me." He curtly said. "Is there some way I can ever show my gratitude to you?"

Yeah. Gratitude. Arthur promised himself that the moment he's done repaying Alfred's kindness (or arrogance, he didn't care), he would instantly go back to planning some devious scheme to get his sweet revenge.

A pregnant silence filled the room. Arthur raised a brow; that was definitely uncalled for, Alfred getting all quiet without warning. Scowling to himself, Arthur poked the other's arm. "Alfred, what the hell is wrong?" The git was probably taking this way more seriously than he should.

Alfred's eyes met his, while two bright red spots glowed on his cheeks. Ironically with seriousness that could rival his own, he mumbled a response.

"Nah, maybe later."

* * *

They've said that Alfred's birthday was coming soon. After getting over the humiliation from his predicament during the weekends, Arthur decided to convert the awkwardness into anger whenever the circumstances permit him to. Too bad the circumstances never did come, thanks to Alfred's newfound desire to annoy him out of his wits.

Alfred – 1, Arthur – 0. Arthur Kirkland found himself getting farther and farther from his goal as the hours tick by. He needed to think of something good to finally get his revenge over the Jones boy. Fast.

"Hey Arthur!" Yelled the crazy woman with the frying pan from the hallway. "Arthur! Alfred's beloved date of birth is coming along soon…why not come up with some sort of precious gift for him this year?"

Arthur spun around quickly, almost dropping the books he was carrying in the process. "Bloody gift, my arse!" Then he turned around again to make his way back to the student council room.

"But Arthur!" She called, catching up to him. "He's your sweetheart! Why on earth shouldn't you-"

"For the love of all that's holy, Elizaveta!" Arthur practically shouted, earning strange looks from the other students passing by. Noticing this, he lowered his voice. "He's not my sweetheart!"

"Of course he is, my friend!" Elizaveta waggled her eyebrows. "You said so yourself when we were in ninth grade…"

"I DID NOT!" This time, Arthur didn't care about the reaction of the people around them. To hell with decorum. He's the bloody student council president of this institution.

He heard a shuffling noise. "Hello, hello, mic test!" A voice said through the speakers. "Oh good, it's working. A pleasant morning to all!"

Arthur cringed as he continued walking. The girl from Seychelles sounded a bit too giddier than she usually was.

"As we all know, a certain date is coming soon!" Arthur bit his cheek to keep himself from cursing. "And now, as his early birthday present, we, the ones in charge of the daily program, decided to let the golden boy of this school himself tell everyone what he has to say! Ladies and gentlemen, I now present to you the one and only Alfred F. Jones!"

Now that went dandy, Arthur rolled his eyes. Just plain, plain dandy. And for some reason, he felt as if Elizaveta had something to do with Alfred's so-called 'birthday gift'.

"Hello, citizens!" The American accent combined with the obnoxious and boastful tone made Arthur's blood boil (but at the same time made him lightheaded…wait, he's blushing, wasn't he?). "So, yeah, I wanna thank these good folks for interrupting the program for a bit. Yep."

Arthur quickened his pace. The sooner he gets to his destination, the sooner he'll stop hearing the voice he detests so much.

"You all admire me and all," Alfred went on. It took all of Arthur's self-restraint from turning around, heading to the audio room, and choking the moron to death. "But I have this one person who I want to go out with."

Cue squeals from the majority of the school's female population. Then again, they do squeal constantly over everyone so no surprises there.

"So you, special person whom I really like!" For some reason, Arthur suddenly lost his solid grip on his bundle and his books fell down to the floor. He flushed a bit and bent down to pick them up but not before giving those who saw one of his famous glares. "After homeroom, go to your locker and look for a special mint green envelope containing my awesome declaration of love for you. Oh, and I almost forgot," Arthur heard Alfred take a deep breath, "See you on my birthday!"

And then there was silence. It stayed like that for a moment before the girl's voice from before talked again. "And that, my folks, was Alfred F. Jones!"

With a shrug, Arthur opened the door and disappeared for the rest of the day.

* * *

When Arthur realized that there's nothing left for him to do, he started fidgeting in his seat.

He was as nervous as hell. And he didn't know why, either. Maybe he was anticipating something. But what? He could still plot his revenge over the Jones boy even if he's on a date with some bloody schoolgirl. Maybe he was just scared that Alfred won't acknowledge him as his enemy anymore…yes, that must be it. He let out a nervous chuckle.

Deep inside him, however, where he's more honest with himself, he knew that he was hoping that he would find a green envelope in his locker later.

Arthur shook his head. No, he did not just…

"Arthur-san." Kiku said, shaking Arthur out of his reverie. "You seem to be ill. We're done now, aren't we? Why don't you just go home and rest?"

"Go home? This early?" Arthur responded. "No, I will NOT leave this desk until-"

"Too scared to confirm it, I see."

Arthur's eyes widened. "What did you say?"

Kiku merely blinked before shaking his head and smiling that mysterious smile of his. "Oh nothing, _kaichou_. I was just mumbling something to myself, _gomen_." He bowed and left without sparing Arthur another glance.

Too scared to confirm what?

Again, Arthur knew. Of course he did. He's bound to check his locker if he leaves his desk to head back to the dorm. It's either impulse or force of habit for him this time.

Blushing, Arthur reluctantly stood up and packed his things. There was no reason to be nervous. Of course Alfred wouldn't date him; the pig was as straight as uncooked pasta. And Arthur knew there's just no way for the lad to even like him in the first place. No, not after what happened in ninth grade.

Arthur punched the wall on his way down the stairs.

He walked as slow as he could but he reached his dreaded locker before he could even reorganize his thoughts. With hands that were _definitely_ not trembling, Arthur opened his locker. He closed his eyes as he did so, not wanting to know, not wanting to find out…

Gingerly, he opened one eye. And then another. And soon, both eyes became the size of fishbowls.

Sure enough, there was a mint green envelope.

* * *

Envelope in his right hand, Arthur resorted to walking back and forth in his room. After all, what _could_ he do? Someone placed the green envelope in his locker. _Alfred_ placed the green envelope in his locker.

Wait a minute…_did_ he? Arthur bit his lip. He hasn't even opened it yet. Maybe this was some sort of practical joke.

He opened his drawer and took out his letter opener (yes, he's a bit old-fashioned) and, finding no wax seal to peel off, tore down the right side of the envelope. He shook it, and out came a folded piece of paper, no doubt a letter. He unfolded it as he sat down on his bed, expecting a 'You've just been pranked by the awesome me!' in Prussian script.

But there was no such message. Instead, no doubt written in Alfred's careful handwriting, the letter read:

_Dear Beautiful, _

_Maybe you've known all along, maybe you haven't. I fell in love with you at first sight, nonetheless. _

_I like your pale complexion. Do you know that your alabaster skin is as perfect as the world's finest porcelain? Your emerald-like eyes and your sun-spun hair never fail to captivate me, either. Your voice, thick with your native accent…it never ceases to turn me on. Yes, you read that right. _

_The way you smile, the way you talk…they're just so wonderful that I kept on wondering why you don't have a boyfriend yet. Maybe it's because they don't know the real you? They just don't see you the way I do, do they? You _are_ hard to get, but I am not afraid to take the risk._

_You are worth it. _

_I know that you prefer formal letters but I want to see your reaction with the way I've written this one. May I hear your response on Saturday, then? Yes, I think it's pure luck that my birthday's on a Saturday. Like I've said over the speakers, I want to ask you out. On a date._

_Meet me at the amusement park, okay? I'll be waiting!_

_Lots of love,_

_Alfred F. Jones_

_Ps: Please say yes?_

It took all of Arthur's willpower to keep himself from either tearing the paper into shreds or squealing like the lovesick fool he was.

But, oh, this is interesting, he thought. And surprisingly painful. Sun-spun hair and emerald-like eyes? Voice thick with a native accent?

Just as he had first anticipated, the letter was not addressed to him, after all. It was an accident. Perhaps Alfred intended to ask _Lili_ out, not him.

Arthur sighed. He's going to have to give the letter to the real recipient tomorrow.

* * *

"But Mr. President," Lili, in her small and innocent voice, said, "you do know that my locker is situated on the other side of the hall, right?"

"This letter has to be yours." Arthur sighed, pointing to the envelope. "Besides, I've already read it- I'm so sorry about that – and the description fits you perfectly-"

He was cut off when Lili burst into a fit of cute giggles. "Big brother's right about you, after all."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Wait, what on earth…"

The school bell rang and Lili ran off, leaving Arthur alone.

Arthur, again, punched the wall.

"Fuck this stupid letter."

* * *

First of all, Arthur needed to go back to plotting that devious scheme of his. And second, the others seemed to know something he doesn't.

He sighed. Maybe that's what he gets for not having a real friend.

"_Bonjour, mon ami_!"

No, the French frog of the school was _not_ his friend.

"What do _you_ want?" Arthur hissed. Just when he thought he was finally going to get a moment of peace on the rooftop, too.

"Oh, nothing. Just updates…" Francis placed a hand delicately on his hip and nudged Arthur with the elbow with his other arm, "on your _revanche_."

"Don't touch me!"Arthur shoved Francis's hand away. The Frenchman, however, merely yawned and caught Arthur's wrist. "My, my!" Francis said with delight and amusement, eying the envelope in Arthur's hand. "Look what we have here!"

"It's a mistake!" Arthur slapped Francis's hand away. "The letter's not meant for me…there are lots of girls who'd be Alfred's type, after all…"

"And since when did you find out all about the golden boy's type _and _sexuality?" Francis smirked in victory when Arthur did not answer. "You can deny it as much as you want to, Arthur. But deep down inside, you're screaming in joy over the fact that _Monsieur Américain_ reciprocates your feelings!"

"Of course he reciprocates my feelings, twat!" Arthur yelled, face red. "We have a mutual hate for each other!"

"I beg to differ, _mon ami._" Francis laughed that annoying French laugh of his. Arthur tried to punch him but he was able to dodge. "Yes, Arthur. I know that you're very much in denial."

"There's just no way!" Arthur yelled. Calming himself down, he looked at Francis squarely in the eye. "There's just no way after his joke in ninth grade."

"Or maybe…" Francis's smirk grew larger, "it is because of _that_ event in ninth grade why Alfred fell for you in the first place For real."

Arthur slowly went back to his spot and started reminiscing.

* * *

_So you're a faggot, huh? _He could still hear their voices echoing in his head after all this time.

* * *

Thursday. Arthur knew that nothing much could make the day peculiar.

Except for gym class.

"Dodge ball!" The Danish boy yelled as the others started acting like wild animals let loose from a zoo. Arthur rolled his eyes. Why was Matthias allowed to waste a whole hour just to start a childish game like dodge ball when they could be playing (English) football instead?

Arthur had no choice but to start dodging the way he's been doing so for years. He still won't get used to it, though.

When the Swedish man from the opposing team started aiming, Arthur glanced to his side.

The younger, kinder of the Italian twins was shaking wildly. _He noticed_, Arthur observed. Feliciano knew that the next _hard_ throw was aimed for him and was too scared to move out of the way.

The young men from Scandinavia _were_ good dodge ball players, after all. Nobody could match up to them, especially when throwing balls.

Nobody. That is, except perhaps for Alfred.

Arthur shook his head. This was not the time to think about that bloody American! Then again, the situation did seem to be very fitting with…

The Swedish flung the ball.

Without thinking twice, Arthur started running, successfully shielding Feliciano from the bruising attack. Everyone who witnessed what happened gasped and Arthur winced as the ball bounced off him; that was one painful hit. Berwald is good.

"_Mio Dio_, Arthur!" Feliciano started panicking as he ran towards him. "Arthur…are you okay?"

"Yes…yes, I'm fine." Arthur smiled at him and stood up. "That means I'm out of the game, then."

Feliciano could only nod while his German friend Ludwig mouthed a '_danke_' to Arthur as he walked pass them. Arthur nodded to him in return. It's impulse, really. He was always bullied with dodge balls as a child and he didn't want someone sweet and innocent like Feliciano to go through what he did.

For some reason, Arthur found himself looking to his right.

There was Alfred, smiling gently at him.

Arthur quickly looked away and dismissed the smile as a trick of his overactive imagination.

* * *

"Arthur!" Alfred greeted Arthur as the latter, coincidentally, walked down the same set of stairs he fainted a week ago. "Umm…uh…hi."

Arthur kept his uninterested façade even though Alfred's blush made him a bit expectant. He slowly took out the envelope from his blazer pocket and held it up between his middle and index fingers. "Alfred…is this really from you?"

At first, there was a pregnant pause. Alfred looked down to his shoes, obviously thinking of the words to say and confirming Lili and Francis's claim. When Alfred looked up at Arthur again, his cheeks were red, his glasses were foggy and his eyes looked hopeful. "So…what is your response?"

Silence.

"Will you go out with me, Arthur?"

Arthur sighed calmly even though his heart was skyrocketing inside his ribs. "My response, huh? You see…"

What did you _really _see in me that attracted you so much or is this just a bloody game to you, a follow-up to your mistakes during ninth grade? Arthur wanted to ask. Instead, he took a deep breath and tucked the envelope back into his pocket. "I thought I was being tricked. Apparently not…or was I wrong, Jones?"

Alfred blinked. "Arthur, why the hell would I trick you?"

The answer is, as always, because of what happened in ninth grade, Arthur mentally screamed. He continued going down the stairs and went pass Alfred.

"I need to think."

* * *

What Arthur planned to be a time solely dedicated to thinking ended up being him looking up dumbly at the stars at the dorm's balcony. He had been so busy lately that he didn't manage to find time to sleep, much less idle around to observe the skies.

He was torn between his revenge and his infatuation for Alfred Jones. He scowled; what did he do to deserve this? Besides, he couldn't help the confusion.

And the irritation.

But mostly the confusion.

"Keep calm, Arthur." He whispered to himself. Oh good, he's starting to go insane, talking to himself and all. How bloody fortunate. "Keep calm and think."

As he was about to drift back into his own thoughts, he heard footsteps from behind.

"Arthur?" Someone up there must be really mad at him. "What are doing up so late?"

Arthur looked up into the blue eyes of Alfred F. Jones. "I told you that I need to think, didn't I? It's none of your business. Now leave me alone."

"No can do, Artie." Arthur grimaced at the nickname but was shushed by Alfred – who started pulling him to his feet and dragging him down the hallway – before he could comment on it. "You're coming with me."

Arthur tried to escape but to no avail; Alfred's grip on his hand (Wait…how come he hasn't noticed that? Shoot, here comes the blush.) was too tight. As expected from a jock. Arthur cursed his luck. "Where, pray tell, are you taking me?"

"To my room, of course!" Alfred chirped as if it were the most common thing in the world. "Come, let's eat ice cream!"

"Ice cream at this time of night? Are you mad?" Arthur questioned in disbelief. "What the hell are you – hey, stop gripping too hard!"

"The moment I loosen my grip, you'll run away." Alfred said without looking at him. "I have had enough of that, Arthur. For the love of deluxe double-decker burgers and chocolate milkshakes with sprinkles, stop resisting already!"

Arthur tried pulling away but sighed in defeat after a few futile attempts and finally let himself get dragged along. But wait…resist what? he thought. Frankly, it's too late into the night for him to speak so loudly and he's too tired to either fight back or think rationally anyway. "Fine." He sighed in defeat. He could sense Alfred breaking into a smile but paid it no heed.

The now-familiar sight of Alfred's room greeted Arthur. While Arthur sat down on the couch, Alfred went to his mini fridge and took out his promised treat: a gallon of ice cream.

_Cookies and cream_ ice cream. Would you look at that. Arthur's secret favorite.

Before he could say a word, Alfred was already offering him a glass and a spoon. "Dig in." The American smiled. "And let's have a chat, shall we?"

Bribed with cookies and cream ice cream, of course Arthur couldn't say no.

Halfway through his glass of ice cream, Arthur's reverie was cut short by Alfred. "I've known all along, you know." He chuckled. "Your favorite ice cream flavor."

Arthur almost chocked. "H-How?"

"You've forgotten, haven't you?" Alfred replied. "I pestered you once into going to the ice cream parlor with me. I ordered first; I got myself a gigantic chocolate parfait, don't you remember?" He beamed at the memory. "While you're content with just one cone of that stuff. Just one. You didn't even ask for cherries. And by watching you eating it, I'm bound to know."

Arthur flushed a bit. "I-I see." He didn't know that Alfred has been observing, of all things, the flavor of his ice cream. No, he certainly did not expect that.

"We should have done this four years ago. Eating ice cream together at the dorm, I mean." Alfred went on. "Ice cream. It has many symbols, doesn't it?"

Symbols? _Ice cream_? This is something new. "Just what on earth are you talking about, Jones?"

"Ever so direct-to-the-point, I see." Alfred smiled fondly at him. Arthur blushed at his tone of familiarity. "Well, how should I say this…Ice cream is just like revenge, isn't?"

"You're mad." Arthur scowled as he stared at his now-melting dessert. "How can ice cream be like revenge?"

"Oh, I don't know." Alfred replied. "It's just that, well, revenge is sweet. Revenge is cold. Therefore, revenge is definitely ice cream. It must be. Don't you agree, Arthur?"

Oh. So that's why. Arthur's eyebrows furrowed in frustration. He got to admit, albeit humorous, Alfred's logic was working wonders.

Revenge is ice cream. If only it were that simple.

"That is bloody not the case." Arthur hissed at his glass. "The books I've read, the shows I've seen, even my own experiences…" he exhaled and shook his head, "having a vengeance and avenging is not something as simple as ice cream, Alfred."

"Perhaps." Alfred shrugged. "But I guess that if you happen to be really angry with someone, why not just offer him ice cream and make up instead of initiating a world war? Mattie always says that 'fighting fire with fire creates a bigger fire', too. I believe that it would be better to just ask for an apology; it's going to save two hearts from being hurt, wouldn't it? I have this friend of mine who ruined my mood and hurt my feelings once because of his stubbornness," he chuckled as he continued, "but I couldn't find it within myself to stay angry at him. So I asked him out to a nearby ice cream parlor and…he ordered cookies and cream ice cream."

Well. Arthur blinked, forgoing the identity of Alfred's 'friend who loves cookies and cream'.

The explanation was surprising, coming from someone like Alfred F. Jones. Then again, he does love physics so maybe not.

But it _does_ makes sense, he thought. He himself loves peace more than anything else, and the cycle of hatred would indeed go on if he doesn't put a stop to it.

It wouldn't end there, however. He gasped inwardly. Of course it wouldn't. He's talking about his several years' worth of shame and humiliation. He's talking about the loss of his dignity, the deformity of his reputation, the time he had to endure the insults that won't stop coming.

He's talking about having his own heart broken.

"Arthur…Jesus, Arthur, what's wrong?"

Arthur blinked again and realized that he was _crying_.

Crying just like a little girl. Bloody good. What would Alfred think of him now?

"I'm fine." He tried wiping the tears away with his sleeve but more tears just came out. Shit, he cursed inside. He's starting to act too much like a schoolgirl now.

What he wasn't expecting, though, was that Alfred would actually put down his own share of the ice cream and _hug him._

Suffice to say, Arthur stopped breathing.

"I'm sorry for what happened, Arthur." Alfred whispered into his ear. "I really am. All those years…I didn't know. Would you find it in your heart to forgive me?"

Yes! Arthur's mind yelled. But from his desire to forgive and forget ignited another fire, this time bigger than the last.

The bastard was actually trying to bribe him into forgiving him! Sneaky wanker, he should have known better.

But Alfred's embrace was so warm and welcoming and full of affection. For the second time in his life, Arthur Kirkland was at a loss on what to do.

"I…" His voice was hoarse from choking back sobs. "I don't know, Alfred. I don't know." He's being too stubborn, just as Alfred said. His reason might be even shallower than the American's, too; he couldn't even treat Alfred the way he treated him. Arthur's pride, however…

He could feel Alfred's breath stop, then come back on again. Slowly, Alfred pulled back, looking Arthur in the eyes. "Oh." Even Arthur's heart sank at Alfred's sadness. "Oh."

Arthur stood up to leave. "I'm sorry, Alfred. I suggest you go and start calling your friends and tell them your plans for tomorrow have changed. I won't be able to go with you to the amusement park, after all."

He walked towards the door. Hand on the knob, he was stopped by Alfred's voice.

"I won't do it." Arthur heard him say. "I'll wait for you all day if I need to. I'm not giving up on this, Arthur! Certainly not…" Alfred's voice lowered to a melancholic whisper, "not on my birthday."

If Alfred intended to make Arthur feel guilty then he sure was fucking successful.

Upon closing the door, Arthur ran to his room.

* * *

"Hello! My name is Alfred!"

The first time Arthur Kirkland and Alfred F. Jones met was when they were in seventh grade; Alfred had been studying in that academy since grade school while Arthur was a transferee from England. It didn't go so well for Arthur, though. Alfred was practically invading his personal space at that time and he wanted nothing more than to get away, being creeped out and all.

Inside, however, he was glad that someone actually noticed him.

But Arthur paid no attention to Alfred's introduction and his eyes stayed locked with book in his hand as he walked pass the American. The lad was handsome, cheerful, sociable…why would he talk to someone like Arthur? It's too impossible. Therefore, Arthur concluded in his mind, the bloke was talking to someone else, perhaps a person behind him whom he had failed to notice-

"Hey! Mr. Caterpillars, I would like to know your name!"

Arthur immediately turned around. "Excuse me?"

Alfred guffawed. "I knew that'll get your attention!" He held out his hand. "Hello, I'm Alfred. Alfred F. Jones. What's your name?"

Arthur merely stared at Alfred, at the offered hand, and back up to Alfred. "It's better if you don't know." He replied. After all, everyone thinks of Arthur as an outcast; who knows what he could unintentionally do to Alfred's own reputation. Too bad he wanted to become friends with the American, though.

"Well if you don't wanna tell me, then fine." Oh. Mr. Jones has a knack for childish responses, eh? "I'm bound to know anyway."

"Oh, that's just swell." Arthur rolled his eyes as he made his way to the door. He had a new library to explore.

As he walked across the lawn, a smiled found its way on his face. My, this Jones boy was persistent.

Alfred did eventually get to know what Arthur's name is ("Arthur? How boring! It suits you, though! No, don't get me wrong, I know that you're not boring but it's just that you seem to be as feisty and elegant as your name. I know…I'll call you Artie!") after they got assigned to the same room. ("Why do students have to be grouped together alphabetically?" Arthur face palmed, cursing the fact that 'K' is next to 'J'.) For Arthur Kirkland, the next few months would mean enduring Alfred's constant chatter, doing homework he's too lazy to work on, and enduring more of Alfred's constant chatter.

After the last period on his first day, Arthur found out that he and Alfred were even assigned to the same dorm.

Someone up there must not be fond of Arthur I. Kirkland.

The first week was mainly composed of Alfred talking to Arthur and asking him to join him and his friends at the cafeteria. Of course, Arthur ignored Alfred to the extent of his willpower (those puppy eyes were just so hard to pay no heed to), knowing that Alfred probably sat down with the cool and outgoing kids. Just as he always did, he sat on his own at the very back, book on his lap.

Every now and then, Arthur would glance at Alfred (who was always by his side; he just won't give up) and sigh. _Please stop_, he silently pleaded. The Brit knew that he himself was the type who falls in love easily. Alfred's funny and charming ways weren't making things easier for him, either.

Everything was fine for the first two years (thought Arthur could have sworn he has gone deaf from Alfred's loud voice…and that something has changed between them over the months.) Yep, he was ready to take on the next years.

Then came ninth grade.

Everyone from the school knows that Arthur Kirkland hated P.E. He detested it. He loathed it. He abhorred it. They could have sworn he would curse the P.E. teacher whenever he was able to with his magic because, according to the rumors, he studied witchcraft and sorcery as an elective.

And then there was Arthur Kirkland's most hated sport.

Dodge ball.

Arthur shivered as the teacher produced the ball. Sure, he _was _evil to Alfred but he was sure he did nothing to deserved this type of physical punishment-

The teacher blew the whistle.

Yes, Arthur hated dodge ball but he definitely was a fast runner, mainly because he plays (English) football and it's a routine of his to run off before his brothers catch up with him. Dodging them balls weren't hard for him at all; he was merely irritated that he had to go through the tiresome ordeal.

Suddenly, however, he accidently collided with someone and down they both went. Arthur looked up and, to his surprise, the person he bumped to was laughing…

And he knew Alfred's laugh anywhere.

Arthur quickly stood up, brushed himself off, and walked to the side, face heating up. "It's a pleasure bumping into you, Artie!" He heard Alfred say, breaking into more laughs. Some of the students who saw what happened joined the merry laughter.

"Well once again the pleasure's all yours." Arthur hissed, clenching his fists. He could already notice the girl from Hungary whispering to the Japanese boy while the albino one started whistling. The scary-looking German shook his head as the Italian next to him started talking. From the corner, he could see his childhood enemy Francis smirking at him.

"Damn it." Arthur murmured and took a seat on the floor. To hell with his grades in P.E.

When Arthur went back to school the next day, the word was out: he had bumped to Alfred F. Jones in P.E. class…

And he had apparently done it on purpose because he _has feelings for him_.

The rumor had reportedly come from Alfred himself.

(They said that the American was quite happy with what happened.)

That sodding _git_.

Arthur felt his body go limp and his blood run cold. Alfred _is_ a charming young man, but he didn't feel that way about him!

Or did he?

No! Arthur punched the wall, not caring whether he breaks the bones in his knuckles. Never in a million years! Oh, he would pay. They would all bloody pay.

"So you're a faggot, huh?" Arthur turned around and saw the albino's sneering red eyes.

Arthur paled. Not only did Alfred tell them that he had feelings for him, he actually told them that he_ was gay_ (which was probably true but was still so wrong).

Oh, he's going to have his revenge next year.

And have his revenge, he did. Needless to say, he ruled with an iron fist as president. He tortured those who laughed at him during his suffering (especially the albino, damn that Prussian) and adjusted the rules to fit his tastes and needs. It wasn't too difficult for him to take full control of everything, being the teachers' favorite and all.

Thus, Arthur Ignatius Kirkland, a victim of harsh circumstance, started plotting the perfect revenge that would finally humiliate Alfred Franklin Jones the way he humiliated him.

* * *

Arthur found that he couldn't stop tossing and turning on his bed. Fuck, this was all too difficult, even for him. _Especially_ for him. But he had expected this to happen to him. At the end of the day, he was just a vulnerable, naïve, and cowardly person. He's even too afraid to face his true feelings. It's as what Francis told him. He was in denial.

After several hours' worth of staring at the ceiling, Arthur sat up. Blimey. His mind's already too jumbled up.

Perhaps Alfred didn't know how his 'joke' would affect him just like how Arthur unintentionally ruined Alfred's mood the day before they went to the ice cream parlor.

But spreading a 'rumor' like _that_ without fearing what people would think of them _together_…

Arthur's eyes widened.

That would mean that the git has been infatuated with him for the last three years, maybe even longer!

And to think that Arthur made a whole deal about how Alfred must be playing around with him and how they were enemies when they could have started dating years ago!

Arthur's heart skipped a beat. So for all those years, Alfred actually put up with the way he treated him. Heck, but why? Arthur knew that he's just a boring bastard who even had troubles expressing how he really felt. To think that he's supposed to be proficient at literature, too.

He walked to his desk and stared at the mint green envelope, Alfred's confession to him. Arthur cautiously took it, determined to read it again.

_Maybe it's because they don't know the real you? They just don't see you the way I do, do they? You _are_ hard to get, but I am not afraid to take the risk._

It's true, then. Alfred worked wonders. He was able to see through him, after all.

His green eyes looked down at the next sentence

_You are worth it. _

"Really, Alfred?" Arthur felt his throat drying up. How could he be 'worth it' at this pathetic state? He's relieved, though. Relieved that Alfred was able to like him despite his flaws.

Fuck, he has a lot of apologizing tomorrow.

There's just one problem left: his pride. He needs to come up with a reason to 'forgive' Alfred for his 'wrongdoings'. One excuse that would act as his reason. Just one excuse would do.

And then he remembered.

Alfred saved him from breaking his neck last week.

Arthur found himself smiling fondly. Leave it to Alfred to make things complicated for him, yet surprisingly easy.

He went back to his bed and closed his eyes. He has a date tomorrow.

* * *

_Arthur I. Kirkland. At that academy, that name evokes several images._

_Most would remember that incident during ninth grade…the time when he accidentally bumped into Alfred F. Jones during gym class. Others would recall the Briton's blush, Alfred's own smile, and how the rest seemed to be watching the scene with interest. A few would chuckle at the rumor that spread around the school like wildfire, at the relief they felt at the thought that maybe – just maybe – Arthur Kirkland, the transferee from England, would finally learn how to express his emotions truthfully. Lastly, all of them would definitely, definitely have that picture of those two caterpillars- er, two eyebrows so thick and dark that they look like caterpillars in their heads. Yeah._

_But there is someone, this one person who could see nothing but a young man trying so hard to be honest not only to his peers but also to himself, the sweetness that accompanied his gentle words whenever he spoke from the bottom of his heart, and – once again – a heart so kind, so warm that it could melt anyone in sight._

_Now, he thought as his own blue eyes glanced down to said young man in front of him (who was holding a gigantic chocolate parfait with a blush on his delicate cheeks, by the way) if only there was a way to make him confess._

* * *

"Remove that grin off your face and start eating this before it melts, you sodding git!"

* * *

**Le wild notes appear!**

The saying 'Revenge is ice cream' was something I found on the internet.

Sorry for the errors. English is not my first language.

Reviews make me happy.


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